


Jealousy For You

by ms_anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romance, Season 4 AU, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1698881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_anonymous/pseuds/ms_anonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean sorta figured that he’d propose to Sam eventually – he just didn’t think that he’d do it because of a jealous bitch fit. But then, when have he and Sammy ever done things the normal way? Established Wincest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy For You

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a Wincest headcanon that I’ve had for a while. I decided to type it up as a birthday gift for a friend, since she’s the one who got me into Wincest in the first place. It’s basically a lot of angst and arguing and then a happy ending.
> 
> This story is set in season four, shortly after Dean returned from Hell. (Sam never hooked up with Ruby, though.)
> 
> Warnings for strong language and heavy hints at Wincest smut.
> 
> Quick note: this story pretty much treats injuries in the same unrealistic manner that the show does, so don’t come here if you’re looking for realism.

Sam practically slammed his duffle onto his side of the bed and ripped the zipper open as hard as he could, nearly tearing the fabric.

“Well, ain’t you a little Sally Sunshine,” Dean grumbled as he followed Sam into the room and let the door swing shut behind him. He dropped his own duffle onto the other side of the king size bed. Sam didn’t respond. He just kept digging through his bag, yanking out the first random jeans and plaid shirt that he found, to replace the blood- and mud-stained clothes that he was wearing now. Dean let out a huff of breath as he pulled out his own clean pair of clothes.

A couple minutes passed in silence. Sam didn’t bother to head to the bathroom, just stripped out of his dirty clothes right there. Any other time, this sight would have been a thing of beauty – and okay, it still was, but the fact that Sam was still completely ignoring him kind of ruined the moment. Especially since now that the clothes had come off, Sam shouldn’t be so eager to put them back on.

Okay, so tonight had been a bit of a close call, but they’d survived. That deserved some celebrating, in Dean’s opinion.

After a couple minutes of shamelessly watching his brother change, Dean finally pulled his own tee shirt up over his head, wincing as the movement sent a stab of pain through his arm. He glanced down at the cut that ran from his shoulder to about two inches down his arm. It was pretty shallow, and had already stopped bleeding – no stiches necessary, even. Really, Sam was overreacting about this whole thing. Not that Dean was stupid enough to try to point that out.

He originally wasn’t going to say anything, but the silence was starting to get to him, and he finally gave in. “Okay, I know you want to say it,” he said. “Go for it. Tell me what an idiot I am, or whatever you’re thinking.” 

Sam instantly spun around. “I told you that we should have done more research before we tried anything,” he practically growled.

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, but when have I ever listened when you said that?” he asked, which – honestly – probably wasn’t the best comeback he could’ve made, judging by the way that it made Sam kick his glare up about ten notches. Dean added, “Come on, we had to dig up the grave tonight before that ghost killed someone else.”

“Yeah, because digging up the wrong grave was so much easier than spending an extra half hour double checking our info,” Sam snapped.

Dean winced. Okay, he may have screwed up there. But still, Sam didn’t need to get so pissy about it.

“Maybe it wasn’t the best decision-” Dean began.

“It was fucking _stupid_ ,” Sam cut in. 

Dean continued as if his brother had never spoken. “-but we got the bastard in the end.”

“After it started attacking us,” Sam said. Oh yeah, he was mad, and Dean was pretty sure that nothing he said was going to change that.

“And I distracted it so that you could get the grave dug up,” Dean said. Because even if he was pretty sure that nothing could get Sam to stop being so damn angry about this whole thing, Dean was still going to try. “You got the new corpse dug up and toasted, what’s the issue?” 

“Because you could have died,” Sam snapped, then immediately turned away. He grabbed his dirty tee shirts and took a moment to examine the blood – Dean’s blood – that stained it, then shook his head and just tossed the shirt into the trash.

Dean snorted. “That’s what this is about?” Seriously, Sam didn’t make sense to him sometimes. “Dude, come on, we almost die pretty much every other day.” And most times, they walked away from it looking a hell of a lot worse. Dean barely had a scratch, it probably wouldn’t even scar. And okay, so his back ached like a bitch from when the ghost had been tossing him into gravestones (which was how he’d gotten the cut on his arm), but bruises healed fast, and he’d definitely gotten too many of them over the years for him to bother complaining about it.

That didn’t reassure Sam, though. If anything, he just looked even more pissed. 

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said. “And maybe if we could’ve figured out who was haunting these people _before_ we reached the cemetery, we wouldn’t have wasted so much time on the wrong grave, and you wouldn’t have nearly gotten killed _again._ ” 

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Dean said.

Sam just narrowed his eyes. “Just a few more seconds, Dean,” he said. “If it had taken me a few more seconds to burn that corpse-”

“Okay, it was a close call,” Dean said. He’d led that damn ghost on a chase all through the graveyard to keep it away while Sammy dug, but it’d finally caught him in the end. Which was when all the being-thrown-into-tombstones crap had happened. And also when the ghost tried to block his windpipe so that he couldn’t breath, just like every other uncreative spirit in the world.

And okay, this time he’d come closer to passing out than he usually did.

And okay, maybe he’d barely been conscious when Sam had found him.

And okay, maybe his whole body hurt like an absolute _bitch_ , and maybe Sam had a point about how close he’d come to biting it tonight, but Dean wasn’t about to dwell on that. He’d started breathing again, no problem. He’d even let Sam drive the Impala to the motel without complaining too hard about it. And now that they were here, all he really wanted was to have some fun and put the near-death thing far from his mind.

Sam, however, looked like he planned on dwelling on this for a while. Why he’d chosen _this_ hunt to freak out about, Dean didn’t know, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with it right now. Basically everything ached, and if Sam wanted to freak out about this, then he’d have to do it on his own.

“Here’s the plan,” Dean said, as he grabbed a random shirt and pulled it on, being careful of his injured arm. He glanced down at his jeans, which were muddy and a little gross, but he figured that it wasn’t bad enough that he’d have to take them off. “I’m going to go to a bar and get myself a drink, because quite frankly, I’ve earned it. You can stay here and sulk all night if that’s what you want, and hopefully by the time I get back, you’ll be calmed down enough to actually enjoy the fact that we’re both still alive. Got that?” 

Sam glared but didn’t respond, and Dean snagged the keys off the nightstand where Sam had thrown them, then headed out into the Impala.

Sure, tonight had been close, but close calls were what hunters _did_. You got used to it pretty fast. If Dean could nearly die and then still be fine with it, then Sam should be over it, too.

Even if the last time something like this had happened, Dean actually _had_ died, torn into shreds by those fucking hellhounds.

Even if Dean remembered being pinned to the ground, completely unable to breath, and the thought that kept flashing through his mind was that he was going to die, he was going to end up in Hell only a couple of weeks after he’d been pulled out, that they were going to make him do those _things_ again. 

He was fine. It didn’t bother him. 

He needed a drink, though. Or for his brother to fuck him until he couldn’t think about anything else, but a drink would work, too.

On second thought, he wouldn’t drive the Impala. He got the feeling that by the end of the night, he wouldn’t be in any shape to drive her home. Probably better to not try to cheat death twice in one night.

There was a seedy bar only a few hundred feet down the street, though. Dean started walking.

( )

Sam paced back and forth for about an hour before finally given in and admitting that this wasn’t going to make it any better.

Dean had a point. Pretty much every case, one of them ended up nearly dying. It was something he’d… “gotten used to” wasn’t right, not even close, except he kinda had. It wasn’t something you just stopped caring about, but it was something that you learned to live with, since there was no other choice. It wasn’t going to stop happening just because you didn’t accept it, and getting worked up every time it happened meant that you’d actually die instead of just coming close.

But today-

He’d been digging as fast as he could, and it almost hadn’t been good enough. The moment that the corpse had started burning, Sam had taken off, jumping over the tombstones that got in his way as he raced toward Dean. And seeing Dean lying there, not moving- It’d been hours, and the memory still left him shaken. 

Sam had gotten pretty good at brushing off the close calls, but this was different.

There were a lot of factors that made it different. Sam knew that part of it had to be because he and Dean were lovers now – and man, wasn’t _that_ still a weird thought. This whole… whatever the hell they were… It had happened a few weeks before Dean’s deal had come due, back when Dean had been terrified of dying and Sam had been terrified of losing his brother, and somehow it had just made sense for the two of them to do anything to make it better. There’d been some freak outs, but they hadn’t lasted long, mostly because neither of them could stand to stop it once it’d begun, so they’d had to adjust pretty quickly.

But that couldn’t be all, because really, sleeping with Dean hadn’t changed a whole lot. It was weird to think like that, but Dean had been the most important person in Sam’s life for a long time, even before this had happened.

Sam thought that it had more to do with the fact that it had only been four and a half months since Sam had held Dean and watched him die, for real. It hadn’t been a Trickster prank. Sam had felt Dean’s blood flow out from between his fingers as he’d tried to hold the wound closed, he’d watched the life slip out of Dean’s eyes. Then he’d gone down to the crossroads and tried to make a deal, which hadn’t worked. There had been absolutely nothing he could do except train with Ruby, to try to do everything he could to kill those bastards who had dragged Dean down to Hell.

Sam broke off those thoughts right there and stopped pacing, rubbing his face with one hand. The same thoughts had been cycling his mind ever since he’d seen Dean sprawled on the ground at the cemetery, and it wasn’t going to do him any good.

He was starting to think that he shouldn’t have let Dean go off to the bar by himself. At the very least, he definitely shouldn’t have been snapping at him about how stupid he’d been. Sam’d been freaking out, that didn’t mean that he should start getting pissed at Dean. He got that, he really did.

Honestly, Sam didn’t feel any better than he had an hour ago. He sure as hell hadn’t calmed down, but at least he was thinking more rationally. And he figured that it was about time that he headed out and found his brother.

(And that was probably the weirdest part of this whole thing, the fact that he could still just casually think of Dean as his brother when he’d been thinking of Dean as his lover just a minute ago.)

Sam’s original plan was to call a taxi and just drive from bar to bar until he found Dean, but he saw that the Impala was still outside and realized that Dean couldn’t have gone far. Sam had only seen one bar within walking distance – he’d noticed it when they’d been driving to the motel – so that was where he headed. 

( )

The alcohol wasn’t doing a whole lot to suppress his memories, but Dean figured that if he ordered a new drink every time he started to think about what had happened in the cemetery, eventually he’d either forget about it or pass out, and either option sounded fine to him. Any plan that ended with him not thinking about the almost-dying thing was okay in his book.

Honestly, he felt like a complete pansy for freaking out like this, even if it was only in his head. Then he’d remember the pain of almost suffocating, and compare it to the pain of watching that hellhound tear through his chest all those months ago, or the pain of having Alistair carve open his skin for all those months, and that was about the time that he had to order something knew to drown his thoughts. And after the first few, it even started to work.

The bartender batted her eyelashes every time she delivered his drink, and asked really obvious questions about how long he was going to stick around. And honestly, that probably helped more than the drinks did.

It wasn’t that he was actually interested. He wasn’t about to cheat on Sam – it wasn’t even tempting. He’d always figured that he’d never want to be in an actual relationship, that seeing one person wouldn’t be enough variety. Apparently he’d been wrong.

But he couldn’t stand to just sit around with nothing but his thoughts, and the bartender – Molly, her name was – was the only one around, and flirting with her was almost second nature.

And anyway, if it kept him from flipping out and going off the deep end because of a little strangulation, then he’d take it.

“I should’ve cut you off about two drinks ago,” she said, then gave a conspiratorial wink as she slid him another beer.

Dean laughed and shook his head. “Trust me, I can handle a whole lot more liquor than this without losing my shit,” he said with a grin, even though he couldn’t quite remember how many drinks he’d hd. A fuckload, that was for sure. Enough that he barely even remembered why he’d come here in the first place. 

Wait, no, he remembered. The ghost, and the cemetery – why’d it have to be a frickin’ _cemetery_ , man, that just made it worse – and almost dying all over again-

He took a long swig of his drink. Okay, that was better.

“I told you that I’m an acting coach, right?” he asked, and actually, that was an honest question. That was usually his line for when he was in bars. Except, well, it’d been a long time since he’d had to use a pickup line, or come up with a lie to tell about what he did. More than forty years, actually – and then before that, it’d still been a while since he’d wanted to sleep with anyone but Sam.

Sam. Shit, Dean really should get back to the motel. Dean wasn’t quite drunk enough to forget that Sam was freaking out back in their room, or that it had been a complete dick move on Dean’s part to just leave him to panic alone. They probably should have done the touchy-feely crap that Sam liked so much, not that Dean wanted to have anything to do with _that_.

Still, he probably should go talk to his brother. At least he was drunk off his ass. That’d make the conversation a whole lot easier to handle.

“You know,” Molly said, and leaned forward in a way that was enticing as hell, not that Dean was trying to look at her chest, it was just _there._ “Half an hour until I get off. Think you could stick around until then?”

“I don’t think so,” someone said, and for a second Dean just blinked, wondering if that had been him. Because that’s what he’d been planning to say, but he didn’t think that he’d actually gotten the chance to say it, and that’s something that he’d remember, isn’t it?

Then Dean turned around, and saw Sam standing behind him, and he didn’t look all that happy.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, slurring the name slightly.

“Come on,” Sam said, reaching out to take Dean’s arm, and Dean let Sam help him off the stool. And Dean immediately stumbled – the floor was moving, who’s fucking idea was it to put a moving floor in a bar, that was so stupid – and Sam caught him before he could fall over. “Geez,” Sam grumbled. “It’s only been an hour, how many did you have?”

“Don’t know,” Dean said, gladly leaning on Sam to keep himself up. That moving floor, man. That thing was a bitch. “I stopped counting after five. Six? I don’t know, it’s been a while.”

Sam let out a huff of breath, sounding super pissed, the way he had been when Dean had left him, so apparently the hour apart hadn’t done any good. “Let’s just get you to bed, okay?”

“Excuse me,” Molly asked, giving Sam a look. “Who are you?”

“I’m his boyfriend,” Sam snapped, then pretty much dragged Dean away from the bar.

It took a long time to get back to the motel. Way longer than it had taken to walk to the bar in the first place, which didn’t make sense, since he had Sam’s help now. Four legs should move faster than two, right? Especially since one of those pairs belonged to Gigantor. Sam always walked fast.

“Here you go,” Sam said, once they were finally back in their room. Sam carefully helped him lay down in bed, even pulled the covers over him, that was nice. 

“Thanks, bro,” Dean slurred, and turned to snuggle closer to the pillow. “You’re the best, you know that? You’re- you’re awesome.” 

“Yeah,” Sam said, not sounding too flattered. “Just go to bed.”

Dean pushed himself up on one elbow. Or tried to, at least. “You should come to bed with me,” he said, then waggled his eyebrows to make sure that Sam got exactly what he meant.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Sam said, and flicked off the lights.

( )

When Dean got up the next morning, the first thing he did was run for the toilet, just in time to avoid blowing chunks all over the place.

God, he was never getting drunk again. He already knew that he wouldn’t stick to it for long – vows like that were just made to be broken – but at that moment, he completely meant it. It’d been a long time since he’d actually been drunk – and he wasn’t just talking buzzed here, he meant actual full-on drunk – and he’d forgotten that the hangover was complete Hell, with a capital H. And he knew what he was talking about when he said that.

Okay, that last comment was so not funny, not even in his head.

A few minutes later, he got the feeling that he was at least done with the getting-sick part, and staggered out of the bathroom. Sam was still sleeping, and Dean paused for a minute, frowning. Most nights, Sam was super grabby when they were in bed. Dean always gave him shit about it, but the truth was, he really didn’t mind. But now, Sam had scooted all the way over to the far side of the bed, and was facing away from where Dean had been sleeping, his arms curled around his chest.

Huh. That was kinda weird. Dean wasn’t really up for figuring out why Sam was doing that, though. Not before he’d had some coffee, at least. 

Two cups and half an hour later, Dean was starting to feel slightly human again. The throbbing behind his eyes had faded to a dull ache, one that matched the way that the rest of his body felt. Which basically meant that there wasn’t a single part of his body that didn’t feel completely awful, and it all added up to a great big ball of suck.

Sam stumbled out of bed. “Morning,” Dean mumbled – his head still throbbed too hard to speak any louder than that. Sam didn’t respond, though. Instead, he just poured himself the last of the coffee and dropped down in the seat across from Dean, then pulled out his laptop and got to work doing whatever nerdy things Sam did first thing in the morning.

Dean let him be for a while, mostly because he wasn’t exactly in the mood for conversation, either. But as the minutes passed, Dean started to realize that again, this was weird. Sam should’ve at least said something to him. 

So finally, Dean cleared his throat. “Thanks for helping me get back last night,” he said. He didn’t remember a whole about what had happened, but he did know that Sam had basically dragged him out of that bar and half-carried him to the motel. 

“No problem,” Sam said, but he said it in that tense voice of his, the one that he only used when he was upset about something. Which usually meant that Dean had fucked up somehow.

He let out a long breath. “Okay, what are you pissed about this time?” he asked. “Is it still the thing about how we should’ve done more research before we went after the ghost? Because you gotta let that go, man.”

“That’s not it,” Sam said, but didn’t add anything else.

Dean practically growled. Everything hurt, and he just wanted to go pass out somewhere. Meaning that he definitely didn’t want to have to drag info out of Sammy right then. If Sam wasn’t going to just come out and tell him what was wrong, then Dean was tempted to just say “to hell with it” and not bother asking.

He didn’t, though, because he was an awesome brother. And besides, he did kind of owe Sam for helping him get home. “Okay, fine,” he said. “I’ll bite. What are you so upset about, then?”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “You mean, besides the fact that you were going to go home with that bartender last night?” he asked.

“What?” Dean asked, and after a minute, he remembered. Oh yeah, there _had_ been a bartender. She’d been hot, and flirting with her had kept his mind off everything else, but there was no chance that he’d ever want to do anything with her.

And considering that Sam was the whole frickin’ reason why Dean would never even think about it, Sam really should know that already.

Apparently Sam _didn’t_ realize that, though. He didn’t say it outright, but he shook his head and turned back to his laptop. “Never mind,” he said, and in Sammy-speak, that basically meant that he was pissed off and going to explode about this sooner or later.

Dean decided he might as well opt for the “sooner” option. Or, hopefully, the option that wouldn’t make Sam explode at all, not that he was holding his breath for that one. “Listen, I was drunk and I talked to a girl. It was probably stupid, but whatever, it happens. But, what, you thought I was going to cheat on you or something?” Sam didn’t respond, didn’t even look over, though Dean saw his jaw clench. Dean leaned forward. “Wait, you’re not serious?” 

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam said, voice tense. “Would it even be cheating?”

Dean stiffened. “And what do you mean by that?”

Sam shrugged, then spread his arms is some vague gesture. “I mean that I don’t know, Dean,” he said. “What we are, what the hell we’re doing with all this – I don’t know, man. I wasn’t exactly in the mood yesterday. If you want to go hook up with some random bartender, I guess you’ve got the right.”

Dean had to admit – that hurt. “Jesus _fuck_ , Sammy,” he snapped, mostly because the anger helped to hide that Sam’s words stung. “That’s seriously what you think of me, that I’m going to go get it on with some random chick if you won’t sleep with me?”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” Sam said again. “I get it, Dean. We were terrified. You were going to die. We needed each other. And now you’re back, of course you’re going to want to go back to how things were.”

“Seriosuly?” Dean snapped. “You think that this was just some _thing_ I did because I was dying? I was scared and you were my fucking security blanket.” If he was less angry, he might have laughed at the unintentional pun, but he was pissed enough that he barely even noticed he’d said it. “No way.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Then what are we, Dean?” For all that he looked angry, he also looked like he was genuinely hoping that Dean was going to have an answer.

Well, Dean had news for him, alright. “You know what, Sam? I don’t fucking have a clue.” He’d thought that he did – that they were a freakin’ couple or something like that, cheesy as that sounded. Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. “But I’ll tell you one thing. We’re not _that_.” Not just fuckbuddies, or someone to have a good time with when nobody else was available.

Because if there was one thing that Dean knew for sure, it was that he’d rather slash his own throat than hurt Sammy. And there’s no way that he would’ve started this if there’d been any chance that he wasn’t going to stick with it. Sure, Dean slept with a lot of girls and then conveniently “lost” their numbers the next day, but if Sam really thought that Dean would treat _him_ that way-

Dean stood and practically stalked out the door, pausing only long enough to grab the Impala’s key off the nearest table. It was lucky that Sam had just put him to sleep in his clothes last night, because he wasn’t going to take the time to stop and change, an otherwise he would’ve ended up walking out in his boxers or something.

“Dean-” Sam called as he left.

Dean didn’t bother to turn around. He just slammed the door extra hard behind him as he walked away.

( )

The words swan in front of Sam’s eyes. He’d been staring at the same screen for about half an hour now – something about two mysterious disappearances in Nevada, it looked like something that they should look into. Honestly, Sam couldn’t pay any attention, though. He was too busy fuming – although, if he were being honest, he’d admit that he wasn’t sure who he was the angriest at. Part of him was pissed at Dean for walking out, and the rest of him was pissed at himself for being the one to drive Dean out.

But seriously, what was Sam supposed to think? Dean had left him to freak out on his own last night, and when Sam had found him, he’d been talking to a bartender who had clearly wanted to take him home. There was an obvious conclusion to be drawn there.

Besides, Sam had told that girl that Dean was his boyfriend, mostly because he was pissed off and trying to prove something (and how stupid was that, feeling the need to prove to some random girl that he had a claim to his brother?) But really, who knew what they actually were? This was a new thing, something that they’d never told anyone about, not even Bobby. At first, it had seemed too new and special (god, Dean would mock him mercilessly for even thinking that word) to share with anyone. And now, well, how did you just casually bring up the fact that you were sleeping with your brother. Or, more than that, how do you say that you’re pretty sure that there’s something wrong with you, because your brother is the love of your life and you don’t even care?

All of this had gotten messed up somehow, and Sam wasn’t quite sure how to fix it. Assuming that Dean even gave him the chance, because it had been over five hours since Dean had stormed out, and he still showed no sign of returning any time soon.

No sooner had Sam thought that that the door flew open.

Sam turned around in his chair immediately. “Dean-” he said, just like he had that morning.

And – again – just like that morning, Dean didn’t give him the chance to respond. “Here,” he practically growled. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small box, then practically flung it at Sam’s head. It wasn’t until after Sam (barely) caught it that he realized it was a ring box.

Sam blinked, and for a minute, he didn’t have a single clue what he was supposed to say. He opened the box, just to make sure, and yup, there was definitely a ring in there. “Dean? What are you…” His voice trailed off, because really, what the hell? This was pretty much the exact opposite of what he’d been expecting. 

“See this?” Dean snapped, and held up his left hand. For a second, Sam thought that Dean was flipping him off, until he realized that Dean had more than one finger raised, and that he was actually showing off the fact that he had a ring on his fourth finger. “Congratulations, you’ve marked your territory. Happy now?”

Sam just opened and closed his mouth without saying anything, and Dean snorted and shook his head. “Whatever, I’m going to go shower,” he grumbled. “Still disgusting from that fucking graveyard,” he muttered to himself as he grabbed a random pair of clothes from his duffel and then headed for the bathroom.

It was another couple of minutes before Sam’s head cleared enough that he could actually process what had happened. Had Dean seriously just proposed? And Sam had just sat there like an idiot, without even saying a word.

Sam quickly set the ring box onto the table beside him and jumped to his feet, heading over to the bathroom. He tried the knob, but Dean had locked it, so he knocked on the door instead. “Hey, Dean,” he called. Dean didn’t say anything, but Sam was pretty sure that he heard, so he sighed and said, “Listen, I’m sorry, okay? For implying any of that stuff. You’re right, I shouldn’t have thought any of it.” 

There was a pause, and Sam was just about to knock again – he was going to make Dean open up and accept his apology even if he had to force him – but then the door opened. Dean leaned against the doorframe. He was naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist, and water was still dripping down his skin.

“Damn right,” Dean said. He had his arms crossed over his chest, like he was waiting for something else.

“And I’m going to go put on the ring,” Sam said.

Dean nodded. “Awesome,” he said, and he kept his face carefully blank, like he didn’t actually mean it. There was a second, though, where Sam swore that Dean was almost smiling.

Neither of them said anything for a minute, then. Instead, the silence just stretched between them, until Sam cleared his throat. “Is there anything that you want to say to me?”

“Nope,” Dean said at once. Sam raised his eyebrows, and Dean demanded, “What? This one was all on you. You’re the one who was being a jealous bitch and acting like I was just using you to get off.”

Even though there was no way that Dean would intentionally let it show, there was something off about his voice, enough to make it clear that he was still hurt by that. Which immediately sent a flash of guilt through Sam, and he nodded. “Yeah.” Yeah, this one pretty much had been on him.

Dean looked at Sam’s face for a minute, then let out a long groan. “Okay, okay, fine,” he grumbled. “Sorry that I went out and started flirting with someone else, even if – and let me repeat this – I was _not_ going to go home with her.” Dean paused for a minute, then added, “And sorry. You were, well, I knew you weren’t taking it so well last night. I probably shouldn’t have run off on you instead of.”

Sam smiled slightly. “It’s fine,” he said, since this is probably the first apology he’d even gotten from Dean, and honestly, it’s a lot more than he was expecting. 

They were silent for another minute, though it wasn’t nearly as awkward this time. Then Sam glanced down at Dean’s hand. He hadn’t taken off the ring, even to get in shower.

“You sure about this?” he asked, gesturing toward Dean’s hand to show what he meant. “That’s kind of… permanent.” Not that they couldn’t take of the rings if they decided to – not that Sam had any intention of doing that – but it wouldn’t change the fact that people would know. Sure, random people they met would just think that they both had wives, or would think that they were husbands but not related. But Bobby was going to ask questions, and so would every other hunter that they came across, probably. Pamela. Jo and Ellen. It wouldn’t take long for all of them to start putting it together.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “What, you still think I’m going to walk out?” 

“No, no,” Sam said quickly. “I think that we’re both in this until the end. But, you’re sure that you want people to know?”

Dean relaxed, and after a minute, he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, and didn’t even sound like he had a bit of doubt. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He shrugged. “I mean, we’ve both died once already. Kinda puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?” 

Sam thought back on the four months when Dean had been gone – four months of nothing but training with Ruby and devoting himself to revenge – and had to fight back a shudder. “Yeah, it does.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, and this time, he sounded like he meant it. “Now, enough mushy crap. I’m getting back in the shower.” He waggled his eyebrows in a way that was probably supposed to be seductive, but really just made him look like an idiot. “Care to join?”

Sam grinned. “Sure. Just give me a minute, okay?”

Dean grinned back and disappeared into the bathroom. Sam headed back and took a moment to shut down his laptop, then reached for the ring box. It was just a simple gold band, which was exactly what Sam would expect from Dean – there was no way that his brother would go for anything fancier than this. And honestly, it was what Sam would have chosen, too.

He carefully picked the ring up out of the box and slid it over his ring finger. It was probably just luck, but somehow, it fit perfectly.

“Come on, Sam,” Dean called from the bathroom. “I’m not getting any harder here.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but called back, “I’m coming.”

“Yeah, you will be!”

Sam just snorted to himself and shook his head, though he couldn’t hold back a grin, not that he was really trying. He stood there for one more second, still admiring the ring that Dean had gotten him. Then he heard another shout of “Sammy!” and grinned wider, then turned and headed over to join his brother.


End file.
